A Man of Colours

By Geoff Logan

The search for the end time conclusion continues. Charlie Semore Virtue, known to his friends as Zarfidi Virtue, has taken over from the Australian, Iva Davies. As he begins his journey to the truth, Zarfidi encounters many obstacles, including the Iranian secret service and a shadowy Vatican group who all want to find the secret burial place of the last Iman of Islam.

This knowledge everyone seeks will have a significant impact on those wishing to build the last temple in Jerusalem. To make matters worse, those from the underworld are also rising up in an attempt to stop the arrival of the Messiah at the end time. Zarfidi, who has anticipated many of these challenges, manages to eventually locate the tomb and advance the Templar cause. Still, there is more to come and discover before Jerusalem becomes a reality. As those lurking behind masks keep their agendas hidden for the Temple Mount, now only time will tell if Zarfidi will be able to see past his perceptions and find his way out the world that has trapped him.

A Man of Colours continues the tale of two Gemini knights as one attempts to overcome multiple challenges to carry on an important cause during a different period in history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665580533

Geoff Logan

Geoff Logan writes about the end time. This interest comes from his former Scottish ancestors who were Templar Knights of the old tradition. The knights were believed to have been chosen to build the last temple in Jerusalem and the author has spent much of his life researching their exploits. Geoff Logan enjoys travelling and exploring many of the historical places that the Knights Templar lived and played in during the medieval period. This book reflects many of those encounters and the author has attempted to place them in a modern context of today. So that the reader can explore for themselves if any of these truths have a place in the present social setting to help us negotiate the chaos of a future world.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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It was 5am as the man stirred from his slumber on the bed. He had not slept for several hours and the morning light was now creeping through the window blinds and only added to his irritation. Known to his friends by the nick name of Zarfidi, Charlie Semore Virtue had previously graduated some years before from the School of Architecture at Perth’s Curtin University. Specialising in urban design, he worked for several organisations trying to revitalise run down commercial properties and landscapes around town. Zarfidi, also did the occasional contract work for Curtin’s School of Architecture when asked to do so and lived in the nearby suburb of Victoria Park to be close to work. However, his rental accommodation was proving to be slightly out of date for his liking of recent times and this made the architect think of buying a house somewhere in the Bullcreek or Leeming area of Perth’s southern suburbs. The closeness of these locations to the recreational areas of the Canning River was an attraction to an avid bush walker.

As he wandered about the unit, the architect could see he needed to do some tiding up in the place as well as washing several days of dirty dishes in the sink. After making a coffee and watching several motorcycle riders from adjoining flats head off to work, he opened yesterday’s Weekend Australian newspaper. The Inquirer section featured an article on Barak Obama. The US President had only been in power for 12 months or so and the correspondent was commenting on how the public were expecting big things from the new administration in Washington. As he read the article, Zarfidi could only say to himself

‘Another leader offering the promise of miraculous social change to the masses …. I wonder how long it will take this time before such illusions of social justice are thrown in the dust bin of so called, progress.’

The architect was not very impressed with such talk in recent years. He had seen from his previous travels overseas, how the controlling social elites in democracies used such instruments as environmental change and commitment to multi culturalism to divert attention away from the evils of the capitalist system. In fact, they were becoming very successful at the task in recent years. Especially, encouraging the left in society to promote such beliefs, knowing full well these forces were no real threat to the status quo of capitalist society in general.

Still, Zarfidi had no mind at the moment for such political thoughts. The young man was more troubled by the dreams he now experienced that kept him awake, most nights. And what troubled the architect the most was the inability to make head nor tale of the meaning they implied. Especially, as the dream content always had the same sequence of events with Zarfidi walking along a hillside path towards the sea. The sides of slopes were full of clowns, magicians and fancy dress party goers. All were dressed in very bright colours and having a good time. As everyone approached the sea cliff, the architect was joined by a young woman on a podium, dressed in white as if they were going to be married. For a while, the ceremony progressed without a problem, until suddenly what seemed like an earthquake shook the hillside violently.

As this happened, everyone became terrified and fled the scene. Then, the podium broke in two and the young woman was thrown towards the rocks on the beach below. At that point, Zarfidi ran for cover and waited for the shaking to stop. After a while, the architect ventured back to the cliff face and was confronted by a demon looking creature holding the dead woman in his arms. She had blood coming from her mouth and the demon gestured to the young man to take the corpse from him. Horrified at the sight, all the architect could do was turn and run from the scene as the dream ended.

The puzzling thing for Zarfidi was that the whole sequence appeared to be played out in a foreign land, unknown to him. The demon wore an ancient coloured uniform with head feathers and gold plated arm and head bands. Its presence seemed to indicate someone of importance, perhaps a lord or god from the underworld. The only similar images that the architect had seen before, came from the effigy features, belonging to the witchcraft priests of the Aztec and Mayan cultures of central Mexico. However, this only complicated matters for him as the young man had no previous contact with that part of the world up until now.

And as the architect was about to contemplate on this matter some more, the phone started ringing and his attention went elsewhere for the time being. His boss from the Curtin campus had rung to ask if he could do a theatre landscape redesign at the School of Mines in outback, Kalgoorlie. The pair discussed the project for some time and Zarfidi agreed to go to Kalgoorlie in ten days time, to have a look at the project. In the meantime, the architect would undertake a consultative process with staff on the design over the university’s website.

In due course, Zarfidi set out for the inland city by car. He enjoyed driving and besides, the West Australian outback often gave him ideas for the projects he was working on at the time. The journey took some 7 hours to complete the 650 kilometres into the interior of the State. Along the way he stopped at Merredin and Southern Cross for petrol and something to eat. Approaching the Goldfields, the architect first came to the mining town of Coolgardie. He was now only 40 Kilometres from Kalgoorlie. As he drove towards Coolgardie, the evening light was now fading into dusk and the workers at different mining operations in the area were packing up for the day and heading home. A number of work vehicles joined him on the highway as they made for the towns centre. As they passed though the main street of Coolgardie, Zarfidi noted the old pubs and courthouse that once belonged to a previous era. Eventually, most of the trucks behind him turned off the highway and made for last century wood and clay brick terraced houses that had now been turned into miner’s accommodation. And as they did so, the vehicles following on the road, switched their headlights on as the darkness of the desert town lights faded in the distance.

The architect noted these coming and goings through his rear view mirror of the car and decided to head for Kalgoorlie as quickly as possible, feeling rather tired after such a long day at the wheel. It was only at that time and for a slight second or two, he noticed a four wheel drive keeping pace with him at an equal speed from behind. At first Zarfidi paid little attention as he drove passed the outskirts of the town. As he did so, he could only marvel through the front windscreen at the brightness of the stars in the Milky Way at night. Because, this spectacle only becomes apparent to the city dweller when one leaves the urban landscape that covers the sky in a blanket of hazy light, drowning out the stars above.

For a several moments, the architect indulged in such thoughts before he was awakened by a rude shock. All of a sudden, the four wheel drive had come right up behind him in the darkness and then switched its head lights on at full beam. This sent Zarfidi into panic mode as they were by now completely out in the bush with no traffic coming the other way. For a while, both vehicles just kept driving, until the four wheel drive started flashing its headlights on and off. Sensing this may be a car jacking or robbery of some kind, all the architect could think of doing was to keep driving and only hope some kind of help would come his way. Then, the following vehicle pulled out into the oncoming lane and drove parallel to the architect’s own cab. All Zarfidi could see from the occasional glance sideways was a man in dark clothing waving frantically at him to pull over. Eventually, the second vehicle accelerated in front of him and then slammed on its brakes. At that point, both cars screamed to a holt on the highway.

As the dark clothed man appeared to be getting out of his front seat, the architect was overcome by an immediate sense of impending danger. And without thinking, Zarfidi quickly spun the car wheels to one side and put his foot on the gas. The car lunged to one side, just missing the other driver now on the road, but still managing to keep going without spinning out of control. Once passed the other car in front of him, the architect made for Kalgoorlie as quickly as possible. This near encounter left the young man feeling decided sick inside and took sometime to calm down a little. All this time, he kept looking in the rear view mirror to see if his assailant was following, while racing down the highway as fast as possible.

For a while, Zarfidi thought he had won the day, until headlights could be seen coming again in the distance and catching up with the young man at every passing kilometre. The architect felt the panic coming back again into his stomach as he wondered what to do next. With each passing minute, the four wheel drive closed in on its prey and looked as if the other vehicle might ram Zarfidi’s car from behind at any second. Bracing himself for the worse, the architect just kept his car spinning around bends and over river ditches at high speed. And all the time the four wheel drive kept pace with him only a few metres behind. Fearing he may crash at any time, Zarfidi thought this could not go on for much longer.

Then, to the architect’s absolute relieve as he came around the next corner, a number of road trains could be seen coming in the other direction. Some seven semi-trailers were in the convey. As they approached each other on the highway, the architect was thinking of flagging them down for assistance. However, when he was about to do so, the architect noticed the four wheel drive had disappeared from view. When the trucks passed into the distance, Zarfidi found himself left alone on the dark highway with only his headlights reflecting on the bush at either side of the road. Then, all that could be heard was an eerie silence until the architect revved up his car again and headed as quickly as possible for Kalgoorlie’s city lights flickering against the dark sky in the distance.

As he arrived at the towns out shirts, Zarfidi wondered if the whole episode had been some sort of trick of the mind, brought on by over tiredness at the wheel all day. Or perhaps it was the police trying to pull him over for some kind of traffic violation and would they be waiting for his car at the city limits. Alas, as he approached the outlying suburban streets of Kalgoorlie, there was no one in sight and so the architect drove immediately to his hotel. Zarfidi usually stayed at the Exchange Hotel in Hannan Street when in the town that was famous for its skimpy barmaids and topless waitress’s. And such a sight at times could overwhelm some guests who were unaware of this outback town’s dress code.

Because he was still disturbed by what had happened, Zarfidi could not sleep that night and just tossed and turned on the bed without catching any rest at all. And In the morning, the architect felt like as if he had been on the grog all evening from the night before and found it rather difficult to find the energy to make it to the School of Mines and look at the project. Eventually, he staggered through the day and then returned to his hotel. After catching up on a couple hours of sleep, he went to the bathroom for a slower. This was at the end of the hallway as the Exchange Hotel was still functioning even today as an historical reminder of the last century. When he arrived at the bathroom door, Zarfidi could see it was already occupied and had to wait for another ten minutes outside in the passageway. After a while, the door opened and an older man emerged with a towel around his neck and soap in his hand. He smiled at the architect and said

‘Make sure you turn the tape on hard to the right, Mr Virtue …. otherwise, the hot water will not come on.’

Zarfidi acknowledged the advice and went inside. It was only when he was in the shower that it dawned on the architect.

‘How did the man know my name?’

Once dressed he then went looking for the man in the lounge and front bar. As far as Zarfidi could see, his quarry was nowhere in sight. Thinking he should order a Hannan’s Larger and chew on what to do next, the architect then spotted the man through the lounge window, standing by a four wheel drive on the road side. He then went out to the front of the hotel and said

‘Excuse me, sir …. may I have a word.’

To which the man just looked at him for a few seconds and replied

‘I am rather busy at the moment …. however, if you want to catch up with me …. come by the old bakery in Russel Street at 8am in the morning.’

He then climbed into the cab and drove off, leaving the architect none the wiser on the sidewalk. That night, Zarfidi was in two minds about attending the next morning. If he did, the architect wondered would this lead to something the young man may regret later on. Or did he really want to know if this was the man who tried to chase him down at Coolgardie a few nights before and for what reason. Although the architect tried to resist the temptation, Zarfidi still found himself driving across town in the early morning.

As he parked the car in the side street near Edwards Park, the architect could see the bakery around the corner had seen better days. In fact, a good paint job would not go astray and new plumbing to start with, he thought. For some time, Zarfidi waited outside for the man to arrive. Then, he heard the bakery door open and the four wheel driver appeared. Holding a sausage roll in one hand, his new friend motioned the younger man to come inside.

‘This place may be a bit run down,’ the man said. ‘However, they do make the best jam and cream buns and delicious hot bread this side of the Nullarbor Plain.’

The architect acknowledged the comment and ordered a meat pie and coffee. After an awkward few moments that followed, the man said

‘Let’s go and talk in the shade of the trees in the park.’

Once they found a nice spot on the lawn to sit, Zarfidi spoke first.

‘I don’t know who you are or care that much to be honest …. however, I would like to know if you were the one who tried to run me off the road the other night?’

The man just shrugged his shoulders and replied

‘Sort of.’

‘That’s no answer,’ responded a very annoyed architect. ‘And more importantly ….. why?’

‘Because, I just wanted to talk to you.’

‘For heaven’s sake ….. I cannot believe such a stupid answer ….. surely, you could have found me at the hotel.’

‘Maybe,’ said the man. ‘However, I have been working at one of the mine sites outside Coolgardie and had not planned to come up all this way to Kalgoorlie …. and that’s why I tried to flag you down earlier.’

‘Fine,’ commented Zarfidi. ‘But, how did you know I was coming up here anyway.’

‘Because, your website said so.’

This reply confused the younger man even more and he was not sure what to ask next, until his new friend interrupted his thoughts.

‘If you must know, I have been watching you for some time now, ever since the C.G. Jungian Odyssey Conference in Zurich a couple of years ago.’

‘I do remember attending the gathering, however, your face is not familiar to me,’ replied the architect.

‘Not to worry,’ commented the man. ‘There were so many people at the conference sessions …. I am sure you could not keep an eye on everyone at once.’

‘Maybe,’ replied Zarfidi. ‘However, you have still not said why?’

‘I know this may seem a little strange …. because, I want you to do something for me.’

‘Now I have heard everything,’ said a very annoyed architect. ‘You approach me out of the blue ….. and nearly kill me in the process …. then, expect me to do you a favour ….. honesty, you must be crazy.’

‘I must say Mr Virtue, insanity has been a companion of mine over the years …. except this time, my head is very clear on what I am saying.’

‘Great,’ replied Zardifi. ’Why don’t you do yourself a favour ….. and convince me!’

‘Well …. I take it you are a follower of the analyst C.G. Jung …. and that is why you were attending the conference.’

‘Lets say I am taken by Jung’s philosophy of the future. And his beliefs that a responsible person today, needs to always be conscious of his or her own rationality ….. and to not let the unconscious invade our everyday behaviour. So, I wanted to hear more about this at the conference. Because, the failure to do so …. will only invite the irrational in us to overwhelm our good judgement …. like we often see on Facebook and Instagram these days.’

‘And how do you undertake such action as a responsible architect, Mr Virtue?’ questioned the older man.

‘By designing form and space that enables the individual to engage in the here and now ….. so, one can always be conscious of our environment that surrounds us. And by doing so …. hopefully, keep us connected to reality by encouraging the naïve and gullible to focus on what the present teaches us and not the rubbish they receive from their cell phones and i-pads.’

His new friend seemed impressed by Zarfidi’s commitment to the Jungian cause.

‘I take your point,’ Mr Virtue. ‘However, Jung has been dead now for nearly 50 years. So, how do we know he would agree with your analysis at this point in time.’

‘Because,’ the younger man replied with a sense of understanding of modern ideology. ‘Jung would see in the appeal of the mass media of today ….. the same handy work he witnessed in the 1930s of Joseph Goebbels and the Nazi propaganda machinery. Seducing those into a so called better world of a new worker’s paradise. Unfortunately, this was a tragedy. The symbols change, but the new message of our world is still one of entrapment as enticed by some very deceptive misinformation platforms on the web. Social and political control that the Nazi’s wanted in Germany is what social elites of today still aim to achieve. However, we now wrap this idea of protecting democracy up in the false ideology of the left’s pursuit of multiculturism and inclusiveness. Sadly, economic power is still the name of the game of the West and this is always at the expense of an individual’s misguided view that democratic rights and sense of true freedom, remain intact. When in fact, personal control is being lost to a more authoritarian political agenda all the time.’

For a while, the older man thought on these comments and concluded the young man might just have the mental backbone to make a templar operative in the future. Then, he was interrupted by the architect.

‘Now, that’s enough from my end for the time being ….. let’s hear your side of the story …. and for that matter ….. who are you anyway?’

Conscious of the attention coming back on him, the man replied.

‘My name is Iva Davies and I am a mining engineer by trade.’

Zarfidi just took the statement in, before asking

‘And what is your interest in the Swiss psychiatrist, Carl Jung.

‘I am afraid that is a long saga,’ reported the older man. ‘However, let me just say that I worked with a German by the name of Peter Meruraberger in the 1970s. And he tried to persuade Jung earlier, without success, to support the Nazi cause before the Second World War started in 1939. However, Merauberger was astute enough to realise that the analyst had some important insights into how Europe descended into the mess it found itself at the time. And more importantly, how such forces could always come again in the future.’

‘I take it from my own reading of Jung ….. and I assume the same ones you are referring to …. Is how the collective unconscious can sometimes flood an individual’s rational thoughts …. brought on by the accumulated distortions of the mass media over time,’ responded the architect. ‘To such a degree that a person cannot eventually see rhyme from reason and fall victim to the sweet talk of those who always proclaim they come in the name of peace and community stability. When in fact, they really only seek uncontrolled power for themselves ….. using the false values of a so called guided democracy agenda to control us.’

‘I think you have summed up the situation very well, Mr Virtue,’ emphasised the older man. ’From what I have learnt about Jung over the years ….. and the way we have lost our moral compass on maintaining critical and independent thought ….. essentially, on things that are important to us. Has come about when we abandon such social anchors in life as the knowledge of history ….. and the lessons it teaches us ….. thus, only leading to what Jung would call.’

A yearning for the fascist beast that dwells within us.

Zarfidi just nodded his understanding of the meaning of the concept, before saying

‘And what has this to do with me?’

‘Well,’ said Iva Davies thinking about things for a while. Especially, as he was not sure about how to approach the topic with the young man and trying to explain such a complex series of events over the last 30 years, within forty five minutes. And in doing so, possibly over simplifying events that would lose the young man’s interest from then on. In the end, the older man, decided instead to give the architect a rather over dramatic timeline of the activities of the trio in East Germany under the communist regime and how they tried to destabilize that government in the 1970s and earlier 80s. In the course of the discussion, Iva mentioned they came across the whereabouts of a copper scroll on an island in the Mediterranean that told of the possible whereabouts of the last Iman of Islam. Something the Knights Templar found in Jerusalem, centuries before and could have profound consequences for the balance of power between Christianity and Moslems in the future.’

These series of intriguing events certainly gained Zarfidi’s attention as the miner hoped and the young man obviously wanted to know more.

‘If you have it now, what is the problem then?’

Shrugging his shoulders in frustration, the older man replied.

‘Unfortunately, I had to leave it on the island, for fear it being stolen by the KGB or the Iranian secret service.’

‘Well …. a long time has passed since then …. maybe they are no longer interested …. so, why not go and pick it now.?’ commented Zarfidi.

‘Because ….. I still feel somehow, I am being watched by these security agencies ….. and any move on my part, could trigger their interest again,’ said the older man.

‘So, why not just let sleeping dogs lie?’ suggested the architect.

‘I don’t think that is possible anymore,’ replied Iva rather urgently.

‘I am not sure what you are implying?’ queried Zarfidi.

‘It’s the whole issue of synchronicity, Mr Virtue …. synchronicity.’

The architect just waited for the older man to continue.

‘As you know my friend, the term was used by Carl Jung to describe meaningful events coming together for a purpose. These events are made up of so called random occurrences that surround each other at a point in time, with the aim of accelerating social change much faster than would normally be the case. And these elements need to be brought together in a rational manner, to maximise its benefits for those it intends to help. However, on the other hand, to ignore such signs with inaction, will only in turn lead to great peril for those involved and cause harm to the progress of human society.’

‘I am aware of Jung’s concept, Mr Davies,’ commented the architect. ‘However ….. nothing of great pains seem to be on the horizon right now ….. so, what is troubling you?’

‘Perhaps,’ replied Iva. ‘However, we often miss the obvious ….. something that is right in front of our nose.’

‘And that might be?’ questioned Zarfidi.

‘The emergence of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as president of Iran in recent years, in fact. He frequently talks about the return of the last Iman to bring forth the end time when Shia theology will dominate world religions. And to do this, Ahmadinejad has accelerated the process by building atomic weapons for Iran to dominate the more moderate Sunni nations of Islam.’

‘With what purpose?’ queried the architect.

‘To bring about the fall of Christianity ….. by using another form of crusade ….. the art of terror to be precise ….. with the aim of crushing the influence of Europe once and for all,’ replied the older man.

‘If I accept what you are saying is the truth,’ commented Zarfidi. ‘Why do you want me?’

‘To collect the copper scroll from the island and keep it out of the hands on the Iranians. Because, if it falls into their possession ….. and the burial place of the last Iman becomes known ….. then, the Iranians will use this to inspire all Moslems to march on catholic Rome with terrible vengeance,’ stated Iva rather forcefully.

‘I thought history was supposed to be dead.’ replied the architect rather flippantly.

‘Be careful, Mr Virtue …. of mocking the past ….. for it has the capacity to return when least expected ….. and make us pay for our sins of neglect.’

Zarfidi just motioned his acceptance of the observation, before saying

‘Then ….. why do you want me specifically to do such a task for you?’

‘Because, I need someone who is a man of colours,’ replied the older man.

The comment left the architect rather bemused.

‘Surely, this guy must be off the rails,’ he said to himself, before responding.

‘You need to explain that comment to me?’

‘What I mean Mr Virtue ….. is that I need someone who can tell the colours of a rainbow in life, so as to speak …. and this means understanding how they combine together to make an arch that touches the ground in both directions. Because this is important in retrieving the copper scroll. A person who has an eye for such detail, tends to have both feet on the ground, like a rainbow and is more likely to be cool headed, rational and think through issues carefully in a crisis. Something that may just happen with this task ….. if you get my drift.’

‘I understand your reasoning ….. however, there may be a snag to your thinking ….. I could be the wrong person in the end.’

Iva said nothing for a moment or two, before saying.

‘Perhaps you are right, young man ….. let’s leave it for the time being ….. however, give it some thought for a while ….. and then we can talk again later about my suggestion.’

And before the architect could reply, the older man got up as if to move off and said almost as an after thought.

‘Oh …. by the way, Mr Virtue …. where did you get the nickname, Zarfidi from?’

Somewhat surprised by the request, the architect just answered.

‘I had a Greek girlfriend once ….. and she said it was liking making love to the unknown ….. so, the name implies this. From that point on, she called me that ….. and my friends loved it and has stuck ever since. And besides, it’s better than being called Charlie all the time.’

The older man just smiled and then waved goodbye as he walked off.

To which the architect called out

‘So, how will I find you again?’

‘Don’t worry,’ came the reply. ‘Just leave that to me.’

For a while, Zarfidi stayed in the park. He was not sure of what to make of the previous conversation and what to do next.

‘Frankly, if I was sensible about the whole thing,’ he said to himself. ‘I would believe this could only be a joke being played on me by someone or this guy is completely crazy …. and either way ….. I am going to end up looking like a fool. Best leave it as water under the bridge for the time being and not get involved any further.’

And not far away, as Iva Davies took to the Great Eastern Highway back to Coolgardie, he thought of another time, some twenty five years earlier at a house in the Perth suburb of Gosnells. Iva Davies had visited Allen Logan and his wife to find out more information about his great adversary of the time, a Janina Schafer. And as they talked in the garden, the three of them watched a little boy play with his tricycle and peddle car. Although, rather messy in his endeavour, the child always had some method to his madness and could always think through difficult situations.

‘I don’t know where this one came from,’ his grandmother, Ailsa said in the discussion. ‘Charlie is certainly different than the other children ….. and I am certain he has a streak of the Celtic warrior in him from somewhere.’

Now on the highway, the older man reflected on that day and wondered.

‘I hope you are right, Mrs Logan …. let us see if it comes to the surface sooner than later.’

CHAPTER 2

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The sliding window shutters that led to the third floor apartment balcony, occasionally rattled in the late afternoon breeze. The figure of a man could be seen siting on a 19th century couch reading a number of papers. It was only after several police sirens sounded in the street below. that the figure stirred from his activity.

‘Another VIP being escorted the EU headquarters nearby,’ he said to himself.

At that point, the man made his way to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. His apartment was one of several in a block of twenty two homes, built in Brussels, Belgium around the 1950s. Modernised again recently, the unit was comfortable, but not overly spacious. Decorated with last century French furniture, the interior reminded him of his upbringing outside Paris. The dressers in the dining and lounge areas were all filled with mementoes from the man’s travels abroad. Of a particular pleasure to him was his collection of war masks from the middle east.

These masks were often worn by Islamic and Christian warriors during the crusades. Made out of shiny copper and bronze, they were used to either hide the identity of an important warrior from the enemy on the battlefield or to frighten advancing soldiers of the opposing army. Those who visited the Frenchman’s flat, often commented on how the masks seemed to have a life of their own and who might lie behind those expressions. Sometimes in the darkness of the night, the Frenchman saw an image of someone in the reflection of the mirrors that were scattered around the apartment. And as they flickered in and out of one’s vision, he wondered if they might speak to him one day.

A banker by trade, the Frenchman had built up quite a network of international contacts in Europe, the USA and Bermuda. Now working out of his headquarters on the Rue de I’indus Trie, he started planning his next career expansion. A strict catholic from his upbringing, the Frenchman believed the Catholic Church and the European Union should forge greater financial ties together, as this would only be of a mutual benefit to each other. He also believed too much economic power lay in the hands of the English speaking countries, such as the USA. And the Vatican’s connections in places like the Caribbean and South America would be areas of influence the EU must explore in the future.

To bring this vision about, the banker in recent times had made his services available to the Vatican as an advisor, should they see fit to use him. For a time, nothing happened until an unusual request came his way. Around 2009, a movement grew in the Catholic Church for the ancient order of the Knights Templar to be reinstated to their former position of grace in the Church. And the Pope’s papal bull of excommunication handed down in 1307 to be lifted. The Pope of the time, Benedict XV1 decided to convene a private group of church advisors to explore the issue and asked the Frenchman to assist him in this direction. Over the next 6 months, he read as much as he could on the Templar Order and recommended to the group in the end that any decision be delayed indefinitely, until the present activities of remaining Templar Order were more known to catholic authorities. The Frenchman’s diplomatic approach won the day and if nothing more, certainly attracted the attention of the Pope. Someone, to definitely watch in the future was the verdict.

However, the Frenchman’s reluctance to move forward on this issue was not based on the fact that the modern day templars were too close to such protestant groups as the Masons for the Church’s liking. Because, he thought these thorny issues could be managed with time. Rather his concern lay in a different direction. While on the committee, the Frenchman had met and talked with others who were part of the Vatican inner circle. And they informed him that persistent rumours had existed for some years now that the modern day templars knew the existence of the burial place of the last Iman of Islam. And this information was of paramount importance to the Vatican. Although the Catholic church now preached publicly the doctrine of peace and reconciliation with other faiths, behind the scenes they had not given up the hope of returning to Jerusalem one day to claim it for their faith again. And having the knowledge of where the last Iman was buried would just be the right lever to use with the Islamists to keep them away from the Holy City in the future.

Thus, those Vatican officials suggested to the Frenchman that the templars should be told privately their readmittance to the faith, depended on giving this information to Rome. Cooperation with the Vatican first would be seen as a sign of good will and an initial step towards a new brotherly rapprochement for both parties. And as the Frenchman had good banking contacts in the City of London where many templars still worked, he should be the one to discreetly lay the groundwork for this new beginning. Although, the banker agreed to the task and was enjoying his new found status in the catholic community, the Frenchman knew the road ahead would be difficult. Not all modern day templars were keen on a rapprochement with the Catholic Church because they wanted to rebuild the third Jerusalem Temple for themselves to ensure the Messiah would return at the end time. These revisionist templar’s distrusted catholic motives in the Middle East and believed Rome had no intention of letting these events take place in the future. And instead would rule the Holy Land for its own earthly ends as the dominant Christian religion of the world without any interference from the Moslems or the heavens above.

Certainly, Iva Davies knew this was the view of the umbrella man he worked for in the 1970s and 80s. The umbrella man believed this was the end game the Vatican wanted to play and they would push for these events to take place before the reign ended of the last Pope. And at the time in those early years, John Paul 11 was thought to be the third last Pope and time was running out. The man from London reasoned therefore that to bring the copper scroll into the public arena now, would only speed up a process that would lead to greater conflict between Christianity and Islam. And as the West was not prepared for such an encounter at this time, the consequences could be detrimental to Europe’s future survival. He thus suggested to Iva Davies that the copper scroll, buried by the Australian on the Greek island of Kastellorizo, remain hidden until the matter could be resolved at a future date. However, since then, the umbrella man had retired and Iva Davies no longer worked for the London organisation.

Still, the Australian could not entirely forget about the Greek episode and his subsequent near death experience at the hands of Janina Schafer in the grounds of St Triduana’s Well in Edinburgh during 1983. And these events always kept coming back to him in 2011, more intensely than in the past. Iva was not entirely sure why this was happening, but believed it had something to do with the eve r present Iranian situation in the Middle East. President Ahmadinejad had become increasingly hostile towards the West over economic sanctions placed on his country and was threatening to increase his nuclear program in retaliation for such measures. The Australian now believed if Iran obtained the atomic bomb and used it to annihilate the Jews of Palestine as the Iranian president demanded. Then, the Holy Land would be destroyed before the third Jerusalem Temple could be built. And this had the potential to derail the return of the Messiah. So, Iva believed the copper scroll would now have to be retrieved to use as a bargaining tool. The Shia Islamists would get the burial place of their desired holy one, in return for a guarantee that Israel would be spared an attack from Iran, long enough for Christianity to reclaim their holy sites in Jerusalem and build a new shrine on the Temple Mount.

And although Iva was happy to try and bring this about, there was one thing that needed to work for all parties. At some level, cooperation needed to take place between Shia Islam and the Christian factions involved. However, it meant the Jews and Sunni populations of Palestine would have little say in those proceedings and as a result, what would this mean for the future state of Israel in the long term.

‘Let us hope it does not result in another betrayal of the Jews,’ the older Australian said to himself. ‘Still, I think I am overreacting to such a possibility.’ he continued.

‘This could only happen, if fascism returned to Europe, like the 1930s,’ Iva reasoned to himself. ‘And that is not going to happen any time soon ….. so ….. let’s proceed on a more positive note as Francis Fukuyama would say,’

History is dead.

‘And this means we cannot return to the bad old days of the past ….. no matter what ….. and only move forward to a more brighter future for all of us.’

Iva felt reassured by his analysis of the circumstances and the way forward to take. Still, like all things in life, when human beings believe in absolutes and certainties, sometimes the gnomes in the garden will look the other way. And hence, the dye was cast for the story to unfold, no matter in what direction it took, over the next few years.

CHAPTER 3

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However, this is a lesson for all of us to learn. Regardless of one’s ideology, it is fatal to forget that life is always about decay and renewal. And when we lose sight of the ring cycle cause, most of us often become complaisant about things and let our guard down. And that is just what those in the underworld are looking for. The opportunity to exploit our weakness’s that always causes chaos and havoc to our best laid plans.

And so, as the winter of 2011 made its impact on the Northern Hemisphere, a female figure walked along Fleet Street in the London evening. Covered in a raincoat and head scarf, the showers just kept coming and made the young woman rather annoyed at still getting wet, even when ducking under shop awnings along the way. And to make matters worse, a driving wind made walking difficult along the uneven street pavement. Eventually, she arrived at a locked ally way that led to the Temple chambers traversing the Thames River. Making sure there were no passers bye in close proximity, the woman placed a key in the wooden door and quickly disappeared from view.

Once inside the chamber grounds, she made her way across several courtyards to a three story building near the old Templar Church. At the doorway to a number of legal offices, the woman produced another key and went inside and up the narrow wooden stairs to a storage room on the second floor. Prising the door open with a set of tweezers used by thieves to get into unguarded premises, the dingy interior held a number of old boxes and files that had been stored there undisturbed for many years. She had been here before and knew which boxes to look for. As the files came open, the old light in the store room flickered every now and then as the figure concentrated on the reports in her hands.

To the observer, the woman was around 26 years of age, with curly hair that looked rather frizzy from a distance. The face had a sharp focus